


Just cry already

by Smutmaker_heartbreaker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutmaker_heartbreaker/pseuds/Smutmaker_heartbreaker
Summary: She can’t see him, but the deafening cacophony of conflicted emotions is hard to miss. He mourns his mother. She’s not sure he’s aware of it, but he does. His heart is far from as cold and unyielding as he thinks it is.





	Just cry already

The reflection of twin moons dances on soft waves in a purple ocean. For the first time in decades, a crowd has gathered on the beach that used to serve as a Rebel base. The few remaining members of the Resistance stand in somber silence as Poe lowers the torch to light up the pyre. Rey’s vision turns blurry as the body that used to belong to General Leia Organa goes up in flame.

Ben’s there too. Not in person, but present nonetheless. She can’t see him, but the deafening cacophony of conflicted emotions is hard to miss. He mourns his mother. She’s not sure he’s aware of it, but he does. His heart is far from as cold and unyielding as he thinks it is.

She should know. She managed to break it, after all.

His presence sticks around until it’s time for Poe’s eulogy. The moment the General’s successor opens his mouth, the Force bond slams shut. Rey doesn’t blame him. It had to sting, after all, hearing people refer to Poe as the son Leia Organa never had.

*

Later that night, she finds the projection of him standing in the living room of her small wooden cabin, staring into thin air. It’s how she usually finds him. Her main theory is that he has a favorite spot by a window on his ship where he occasionally lets his guard down, but he could just as well be staring blankly at a wall on his side too.

“This is not a good time,” he says without sparing her a look.

“I’m not exactly in the mood for this either, but here we are.” She rubs a bloodshot eye with the back of her hand. “I noticed you. At the funeral.”

Her words hit him hard. He clenches his jaw and seems to physically push back whatever emotion it was that just tried to reach the surface. It’s ridiculous, really, how much effort he’s putting into keeping the façade up. Emotional privacy hasn’t been a thing for either of them for quite some time.  

“How did it happen?” he asks. “I know it wasn’t us, so… How?”

 “Heart attack.”

“I see.” His voice is soft, but he’s clenching his fists so hard they’ve started to vibrate.

“I’m sorry.” She’s not sure why she says it, why she’s trying to comfort _him_ of all people, but she means it.

“I’m not,” he says, and it’s probably one of the crappiest lies she’s ever heard.

_Stupid, pathetic warlord._ She sighs. _Silly, over-powered man baby._

“Just cry already,” she says bluntly. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

He flinches and finally looks at her. “What?”

She crosses her arms and forces herself not to take a step back—quite a feat, considering the size and demeanor of the man approaching her. With a gloved hand, he grabs her chin and tilts her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. She instinctively digs her fingers into the sleeve of his coat but she refuses to struggle. This isn’t a fight, no matter how much he wants to turn it into one.

“What did you say?” he growls.

She meets his eyes without hesitation. “Cry, Ben. You need it.”

“You have no idea what I _need_.” His grip tightens, his thumb pressing down right where her pulse beats the hardest. Her head spins, but she refuses to avert her gaze. He can’t scare her. She won’t let him.

She lets go of his forearm and slowly raises a hand. Softly, hesitantly, she strokes his unruly dark bangs out of his eyes. The pressure on her throat eases, and so does the fury in his eyes. She decides to interpret that as an invitation and runs her fingers through his hair before cupping his face in her hand, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. He closes his eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, she feels him lean into her touch.

“I hate her for doing this,” he says. “Who gave her the right to just… To just…” He pauses, clenching his jaw, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening. “I hate her for doing this to me.”

 “No, you don’t,” Rey murmurs. _Stupid, stupid man._ She knows what she’s about to do is probably about as intelligent as trying to hug a man-sized cactus with fangs, but she stands on her tiptoes wraps her arms around his neck anyway. It’s probably the Force bond messing with her emotions again—it _has_ to be the Force bond—but for some reason, it feels like the right thing to do.

Ben freezes. For a couple of seconds, he stands perfectly still, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. Then, his façade begins to crack. Piece by piece, it falls apart, until all that remains is a broken, trembling man who’s just lost his mother.

“No,” he whispers, “I don’t.”

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against his chest. His fingers dig deep into skin as he clings to her. Rey forces back a surprised yelp as her feet leaves the ground. Somehow, she always manages to underestimate just how much of a physical powerhouse this man actually is. He could probably snap her spine in two without making an effort, and she really, really hopes he’s aware of that too.

 “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asks hoarsely. “You’re the one who made them give her a Jedi’s funeral.”

“Yeah.” She swallows hard. “I followed the instructions in the sacred Jedi texts. I know she wasn’t a Jedi, but… It felt right.”

“It was good. I think… I think she would have liked that.”

Rey’s feet abruptly hit the floor as her mortal enemy slash possible soul mate disappears. When she touches her shoulder, the fabric of her tunic is slightly damp.

 

 


End file.
